


Of Quiet Thoughts Protracted

by tungstenpincenez



Series: The Green that Never Dies [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comfort Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Fix-It, Holmes Brothers, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Missing Scene, Season/Series 04, Sibling Incest, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 02:02:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9577289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tungstenpincenez/pseuds/tungstenpincenez
Summary: Sherlock attempts to comfort his brother after the verbal lashing he received from their parents.





	

When the car came to a halt, Mycroft came out of his brooding and looked out. His eyes widened. The country house stood silently, patiently. 

_I must give her a pay rise._ His P.A. could very rarely catch him unawares. He sighed. He had to move past the… incident at Sherrinford, else he risked becoming vulnerable to ambush from his growing list of adversaries. He mentally shook himself, thanked his driver, and stepped out of the car.

Even before he reached his front door, he knew he had company. The off-centred knocker only confirmed it.

He rolled his eyes when he espied the dark blue overcoat and wool scarf shrewn across the foyer. He locked the door and sighed in annoyance as he hung the two garments properly, followed by his own outerwear. A hand briefly caressed the Belstaff before he headed toward the kitchens, pointedly ignoring the sitting room and the welcoming glow of the fire.

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose at the sight of the suit jacket flung across the floor before the fridge. Had he become predictable? He picked up the jacket, hesitated, then brought it to his nose and inhaled. Memories flooded. 

When he opened his eyes again, he shook out the wrinkles and draped the jacket across the back of the breakfast nook chair. He took stock of the items in the fridge, smiling slightly as he noticed the perishable ingredients for soufflé. Andrea always knew the right therapeutic measure.

Knowing he’d delayed long enough, Mycroft made his way to the sitting room and the plush armchair ensconcing his brother. Sherlock’s eyes had immediately locked with his as soon as he appeared on the threshold. They continued to stare as he stopped mere centimetres before the chair. If his knees buckled even slightly, they would bump against his brother’s. 

Sherlock took a sip of the brandy before offering it up tantalizingly. Mycroft received the tumbler and twisted it to drink from the same spot where his brother’s lips had touched the glass. Sherlock’s nostrils flared and his eyes darkened.

Mycroft was suddenly engulfed by strong arms and a persistent pair of lips. The ice clinked in the glass and he felt a few droplets against the back of his hand. If he were as destructive as his brother, he’d’ve been tempted to discolour his rug and risk his housekeeper's disapproval. As such, he merely wrapped his arm about Sherlock’s shoulders, the glass pressing lightly against the scapula sinister as he returned the kiss with equal fervour.

When they finally paused for breath, Sherlock cupped his brother’s cheeks and said, “I love you.” He registered the astonishment in his brother’s eyes. They rarely vocalized the sentiment. They both abhorred cliché, but tonight, after what they’d both been through (along with John, of course), after the outrage from Mummy and from Father (his had come as a surprise) that afternoon, he risked providing arsenal to Mycroft about being emotional. Some things were more important.

Mycroft’s expression softened. He pressed in for a light kiss, murmuring, “Brother mine.”

Reluctantly, Sherlock released his hold. Rescuing the tumbler, he placed it on the side table. He removed Mycroft’s suit jacket then waistcoat and flung them into the armchair, pretending not to see his brother’s frown. He coaxed his brother toward the sofa. 

Sherlock straddled Mycroft and grinned when his brother let out a groan as he pressed their hips together. He loosened then removed his brother’s tie. Slowly, he unbuttoned his brother’s shirt, pressing kisses on the exposed skin as far as his lips could reach in his position. A moan escaped. Slender fingers tangled into his hair, twitched as sensitive spots were hit; stuttered breath and shallow pants encouraged his continued explorations. His tongue flicked a nipple and his brother’s entire body jerked. Another such reaction was elicited as he bit into the juncture between neck and shoulder and palmed the burgeoning bulge. Mycroft hissed and his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

Kissing along the left tendon toward eager lips, Sherlock’s ministrations were halted as the hands cradling his head held fast and caused his breath to hitch in turn. Breathing heavily, he finally extricated himself and swatted Mycroft’s hands away when they attempted to unfasten the remaining buttons of his shirt, instead placing them against his buttocks. He moaned as they squeezed. Tilting his brother’s head up, he pressed kisses across every inch of the beloved face, eventually relenting and pressing their lips together again.

When kissing became insufficient, Sherlock freed his brother’s arousal from its constraints and allowed Mycroft to bare his flesh. He nearly lost his balance at his brother’s impatient motions. They both groaned as their bodies pressed together. Sherlock grunted as he ground his hips and felt the fingers about them tighten convulsively. Mycroft’s mouth fell open, head flung back, as Sherlock’s hand encircled their erections and began to pump.

Mycroft’s feelings of enveloping bliss were abruptly cut short and a snarl of frustration escaped him. When his eyes snapped open, Sherlock was removing a condom from its wrapper. He was not allowed sufficient time to protest before his brother sank down on him. He was momentarily blinded, gasping at the tightness. 

Even though he'd prepared himself, Sherlock let out a few breaths as he adjusted to having all of Mycroft inside him. They rarely enacted this step, but he needed his brother to be absolutely certain that this wasn’t about pity or forgiveness or guilt. Or weakness. Once he felt ready, his pistoning movements were quick and steady, his caresses reassuring. 

They came simultaneously, Sherlock shouting his brother’s name and Mycroft groaning his. 

Sherlock came back to himself and raised his head from the crook of his brother’s neck. Smiling, he wiped the stray beads of come from Mycroft’s cheek. He intook a sharp breath when his brother grasped his hand and sucked his fingers clean before pressing a kiss against his palm.

After uncounted rounds in bed later that evening, with Sherlock’s whispered endearments still echoing, Mycroft held his brother’s sleeping form and breathed a sigh of relief. Until tonight, he hadn’t realized how tired he’d become of the burden of the secret. He brushed away a tear as he recalled Sherlock’s recounting of his accompaniment of their parents to the Dower House and subsequent scolding. Mummy must have been shocked speechless when he threatened to disown them if they persisted on blaming their eldest.

Sherlock muttered something incoherent against his chest. Mycroft pressed a kiss into the curls to settle him, as he’d done countless times in the past, when Sherlock suffered nightmares about drowning at sea to rescue Redbeard. His brother pressed closer. Stroking the silky locks, Mycroft mused that perhaps he _should_ allow Sherlock to attempt to draw Eurus out. Perhaps his point that his unpredictability would protect rather than imperil him had merit. After all, the trained “professionals” at Sherrinford had failed and succumbed to his sister’s manipulations.

The bile rose again at the thought of exposure that was within Eurus’ power if she ever emerged from her shell. She could not have failed to notice Sherlock’s slip of tongue (“Do shut up, dear.”), and becoming acquainted with her other brother would only confirm the bond between both brothers. 

Sherlock’s voice interrupted once more. _“What harm could she inflict? We’ve never ‘come out’ merely because of your ‘consideration’ for the goldfishes’ delicate sensibilities. Those who matter in our lives might not understand, but they’d accept. And you are privy to so many secrets that I doubt_ any _standing government would risk exposing you.”_

Mycroft did not share Sherlock’s confidence, but a part of him did hope his brother’s words would prove true. If the situation otherwise proved calamitous… well, he had several escape plans. He might despise legwork, but the skills such training had provided would certainly allow him to successfully evade any attempts to ever find him. And he could leave without regret now that Eurus’ existence was no longer a threat to his brother’s well-being. He could start anew without anyone being the wiser. Anyone other than Sherlock, of course. 

He smiled as he considered Sherlock’s glee at sharing in the pretense of another identity. Always one for the dramatic. 

With that comforting thought, Mycroft drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Come, let me see thee sink into a dream  
> Of quiet thoughts protracted till thine eye  
> Be calm as water when the winds are gone  
> And no one can tell whither. 
> 
> from _Travelling_ , William Wordsworth
> 
> Now with a sequel: [The Very Pulse of the Machine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12192828)


End file.
